


Lèse-majesté

by Emily_Nicaoidh



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Arranged Marriage, Creature Draco Malfoy, Dark Magic, First Time, Legilimency, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-24 11:08:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21337258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emily_Nicaoidh/pseuds/Emily_Nicaoidh
Summary: Lèse-majesté (n): an offense against the dignity of the reigning sovereign. Lit. “to do wrong to majesty”. Five years after the war, one minor offence upsets a delicate balance, and something that once was impossible becomes inevitable.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 6
Kudos: 74





	Lèse-majesté

Draco threw the Daily Prophet down onto his desk in disgust. This would be the last time his picture was ever allowed to appear in it. How could they have known? He had been so careful for so long. He never transformed when there was even the slightest chance that anyone could see him, but the worst had somehow happened: there was a moving photograph taken by a wizarding camera of him melting into his serpent form on the cover of the Daily Prophet. The title  _ Half-breed Hypocrite!!! _ was emblazoned above it. Personally, Draco felt the three exclamation marks were a bit excessive. 

The Malfoy name commanded respect enough for that, at least: that this paper, little better than a tabloid, had dropped whatever it had planned for the front cover for this. 

Downstairs, he heard something smash. Narcissa, probably, was responsible for that; Lucius was more the quiet type when he got angry. 

There was little point in avoiding his fate; Draco sighed and apparated downstairs. 

Narcissa glanced up at him when he appeared; Lucius stared straight through him. 

“They should have thought this was a simple animagus transformation,” Lucius had been saying. 

Draco shuffled his feet guiltily. 

“Maybe they still will,” Narcissa said. “Nobody on either side takes the Prophet seriously anymore, not after how much they ignored during the war.” 

“Didn’t most of our side already know anyway?” Draco asked, emboldened by Narcissa’s dim opinion of the Prophet’s credibility.

“They  _ suspected _ ,” Lucius hissed, “but none of them  _ knew _ . Besides, you looked like a corn snake. It’s an embarrassment.”

Ah. Draco sidled closer to the door, wondering if the house elves had left his favorite tarts out in the kitchen for him, as they often did. Lucius was more upset about the Wizarding world at large believing Draco’s serpent form was harmless than about them finding out in the first place. Well, he couldn’t help that. 

Narcissa flicked her wand at the shattered crystal on the floor. “Well, sue them for lèse-majesté. Enough of the old laws are still on the books. The Wizangemot would have to rule in our favor.” 

“Do I get a say in this?” Draco asked. 

“No,” both his parents replied, neither bothering to look at him. 

\-- -- -- 

“I thought I’d find you here.” Harry said. Draco heard the whisper that always followed when he removed his invisibility cloak. 

Draco turned abruptly, nearly dropping his potions knife. “Fuck off, Potter,” he said, mainly out of habit. There was no venom in his voice. 

“What are you making?” Harry was close, suddenly, and Draco hadn’t heard him move, standing just behind him, reaching around and touching the thin gold of Draco’s ring.

Draco sighed. “Nothing, really. Just...I don’t know. The blood orchids needed to be sliced so they can dry out, and then I started brewing some things, and I wanted to get away from the talk about the Prophet.” 

“It’s a good thing they took the picture when they did,” Harry said, still idly twisting the ring. 

“They must have disapparated the instant they got the shot,” Draco agreed. “Thank Morgana. It could have been so much worse if they’d caught the end of that transformation.” 

“I think Lucius is more upset that you appeared harmless than about you getting caught in the first place,” Harry said. 

“He shouldn’t be,” Draco said, turning around to face Harry. “This is safer.”

Harry leaned forward, letting his hands rest on the potions bench on either side of Draco. “Come upstairs?” 

“No.”

“I was thinking about reinforcing the wards tonight,” Harry said, choosing his words carefully. “If you could--” He broke off, and Draco knew he didn’t want to finish the question. 

“Yes, I can give you enough blood to ward the place. I’m not...I need to keep an eye on this for awhile. I’ll meet you at the border of the estate at sunset.”

Harry grimaced, but Draco had already turned back to the blood orchids.

\-- -- -- 

The problem, Draco thought, while hanging blood orchid slices to dry, was that nobody was sure how much the rest of the wizarding world knew about Malfoy tradition. He was pretty sure that the other old, dark families knew, or at least their heads did. He knew of similar traditions in the Parkinsons, Notts, Carrows, and Goyles, and for some reason, the Weasleys, even though they obviously weren’t dark. Maybe they had been in centuries past, Draco mused. 

There was still the possibility that most readers of the Daily Prophet would think that he was an animagus who had made a poor choice of his animal form in spite of the headline. 

The problem was that the headline was true, but not in the way most wizards would think.

\-- -- -- 

Draco met Harry at the border of the estate at sunset. To muggles, Corfe castle looked just as ruined as it had been since the sixteen forties. Most wizards would see only the wards and the strong iron gates; other dark wizards might be able to see the threads of magic running through them. 

The wards that fed the glamour required blood. Harry had suggested they use a deer, and Draco had been secretly relieved, but those wards were failing quickly. If they wanted to continue to escape muggle notice, the wards would have to be strengthened, and soon.

“You’re sure this is the right way to do this,” Harry said, the uncertainty plain in his voice. 

Harry was going to waffle all night, Draco realized. He was never going to convince Harry that blood magic was the most effective magic, was the  _ only _ magic. 

“ _ Ceorfan, _ ” Draco barked, pointing his wand at his left hand. Even though he knew what was coming, Draco gasped when a deep gash appeared, and that seemed to shock Harry into motion, because he was conjuring a jar and catching the blood. 

“ _ Clysan. _ That’s enough, if you’re careful.” 

“I’d still rather not do this.” Harry held the jar of blood at an odd angle, as if trying to keep it from touching him at all. 

“Tough shit, Potter. That’s what you get for being such a powerhouse. Now go, before we lose any more of the night.” 

Something on Harry’s face told Draco he’d gone a step too far. “Don’t make me regret this later,” he grumbled, and transformed. 

He settled in his favourite spot, the pocket of the soft tee that Harry seemed to always wear under his robes. 

Harry walked the perimeter of the estate, muttering the incantation that Draco had taught him. It had been a fight, getting permission from Lucius to teach it to Harry, but a necessary fight: the incantation was useless without both the blood of the heir and the blessing of the current head of the house. 

The incantation had to be chanted or sung, repeated every step of the way as the caster walked the perimeter of the estate. In between recitations, Harry interjected complaints about having to cast dark magic. 

“I hate doing this,” Harry muttered, pausing between recitations of the spell. “A litre of your blood for this, a few drops for that...” He trailed off and started back up with the spell. 

Draco shifted in his pocket, folding his wings a little tighter. It was starting to get cold at night, now that the dark was coming earlier and earlier. 

“What’s next?” Harry continued, picking up the thread after he repeated the spell again. “Your hair? A scale? A bone? ‘Oh, Draco, we need your left foot to give to the fairies for some stupid made up reason, let us cut your foot off,’ that’s what your parents are going to be saying next!” He growled a little and then started singing the incantation again. 

“They just want to chop you up for parts,” Harry grumbled, finishing the next recitation. “I won’t allow it.” He started singing again. 

“I know what you’d say if you could talk,” Harry said. “Some nonsense about duty, and what owe to your ancestors and the Malfoy line for protecting themselves so that you could exist.” He took a deep breath, then continued the spell. 

“But you know what I think of that. Look where duty got me. Dead, resurrected, and married to a dark wizard I barely knew. Duty is stupid.”

Draco froze. It was true that they hadn’t known each other well at all, beyond the teasing and tricks at school, where they had been enemies, and it had been the Wizangemot who had decided the best way to keep the most powerful dark family in line was to require them to marry their heir to their golden boy. At the time, he’d had no idea why Harry agreed to it. 

He’d assumed Harry had agreed to it. 

But now it sounded like Harry’s hand hadn’t; he had been forced, just like his. Draco let a little hiss of frustration escape, accidentally singeing the fabric of Harry’s shirt, and Harry jumped. Draco stretched his neck up, peeking over the top of Harry’s pocket. He was almost done walking the perimeter; Draco could wait. 

It took three more repetitions of the incantation to finish off the wards, and then Draco was launching himself out of Harry’s pocket, claws poking needle-like holes in the fabric. He threw himself into the air and transformed before his (now human, bare) feet hit the ground. 

Harry must have picked up his cloak when he transformed last time, because he handed it over, eyes averted. 

“I didn’t know they made you too,” Draco blurted out. “That’s why. That’s why you didn’t want to…”

Harry frowned, not getting it at first, and then Draco watched as something in him broke. 

“Oh god. Oh god, not you too.” 

Draco frowned. Harry sounded far too upset about this.

Harry had put his head in his hands, and Draco began to worry that the situation had somehow gotten away from him. 

“Potter! It’s fine!” Draco grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him a little. “I’m still here, right? I could have left. I stuck around. That was me, I chose that part.” 

“No,” Harry was shaking his head. “I know you, by now. You’d stay anyway. You didn’t choose this. You don’t have any choice, just like I didn’t.” 

Draco couldn’t deny it. Dragons were incapable of lying, and Draco found it difficult to do when he had recently transformed. Something about his other nature took a little longer to wear off. “I’m--” the reassurance died on his lips. He wasn’t choosing to be here, not really. Sometimes he wondered if he would have chosen it, if he’d had time. But there had been no time, and it was this or go on the run again and spend the rest of his probably short life hunted by aurors. No, there was no choice.

“I’m a horrible person.” Harry was apparently continuing to have some kind of meltdown. “I thought you wanted me. In the lab. You couldn’t have escaped. I keep grabbing at you--” 

I did want you, Draco wanted to say, but that wasn’t quite right and the words wouldn’t form. I could have wanted you. I might have. I might want you. 

“I might,” Draco managed to get out. “Fuck, it’s cold. I’m going inside.” His wand was still in the pocket of the robe, and he disapparated straight to his potions lab. 

\-- -- -- 

Harry had apparently apparated mid-sentence, because he was in the middle of a rant when he appeared in Draco’s lab, reeking of Firewhiskey.

“--And maybe then Lucius will pull up the corner of his robe and he’ll be missing a foot, and he’ll say See Harry, we all do it, like that’s supposed to make it ok, like that can make any of this okay, and--” here Harry paused for a breath, and Draco realized he was standing too close, Harry was  _ always _ standing too close, but this time Draco leaned back a little, as casually as he could, just so that their shoulders were touching. 

Harry froze. The sudden touch seemed to disarm him. “No, no, I can’t touch you,” he muttered, and Draco felt sick. 

“What?” It was barely more than a whisper. He’d thought Harry wanted him. He’d thought it was okay that he wanted Harry, wanted him a lot in fact, had thought that was what Harry had been hinting at with all the overly casual touching over the past months. 

“No, can’t, I’m not any different than him if I--,” Harry said, his voice firm. “Draco. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have--” 

Draco spun around. Harry was still too close, and Draco stared into his eyes. He was a shit occlumens. Maybe for once that could work out in his favor.

Then he rewound Harry’s words in his head, and the stress was not where Harry had put it. 

“Wait. Wait a second. No different than who?” Draco asked. 

“You know who.” Harry laughed, a dark sound. The hyphens were missing, the way Harry pronounced it, but Draco heard what wasn’t there. “What do you think he would do if he had the boy who lived, dead?” 

“I’m not a legilimens,” Draco said. “I don’t have to know anything if you don’t want me to.” 

It was apparently the right thing to say; something in Harry’s face crumpled and Draco wrapped his arms around him, not thinking about it, but it seemed to be what Harry needed. 

“Don’t apparate drunk, please. I like you alive,” Draco said after some time. 

Harry only laughed in response, a different laugh than before.

\-- -- -- 

Something was different, after that. Draco was afraid to think too much about it, to focus too closely on it, in case he scared this fragile thing away somehow. Sometimes Harry’s hand would find his when they were standing side by side, which seemed to be happening all of the time now. 

Sometimes Harry would be beside him when he worked at his potions table, and one of Harry’s hands would rest gently, feather-light on Draco’s hip, or he would lean against Draco’s shoulder when he was tired, and why did they seem to be always standing or sitting in ways that made that seem not only possible but inevitable? 

It was wonderful, it was terrifying, and Draco had no idea what to do in response to any of it. Dark wizards shouldn’t; generally speaking; some of them planned elaborate curses or dark spells, fueled by an event that could necessarily only happen once in their life. The general thought was to wait, in case you needed to use that for a spell, and so Draco had waited. Was waiting. 

He was growing more and more suspicious that he wouldn’t be waiting much longer. He thought about researching spells, trying to figure out what he could do with that kind of energy, but the more he dwelt on it the more he realized he didn’t want there to be anything else going on when it happened. If it happened. 

He’d been honest with Harry that he didn’t have to know anything Harry wasn’t going to tell him. Harry hadn’t brought it up again, and he hadn’t apparated drunk again, even though Draco hadn’t said anything else about it, because he was as guilty as anyone of doing it, and Draco hadn’t asked anyone else, even though he wondered who knew. 

Would the dark lord have done this in public? No, he couldn’t have, Draco decided, because then it would certainly have been in the papers, thanks to the likes of Rita Skeeter. After that realization he felt sick, and resolved to stop thinking about it. 

Narcissa had apparently won her case; the Daily Prophet published a retraction and a weak cover story claiming that the photographer had been drunk on Firewhiskey and had mistaken someone else for Draco. 

Harry, naturally, thought this was hilarious, and went around pretending not to recognize Draco for a week after the retraction came out. 

\-- -- -- 

“You called me Harry, in your head,” Harry said one day. He was sitting on the edge of the table in Draco’s potions lab, his feet swinging off the edge. Harry seemed to spend a lot more time down in the dungeon lab with Draco these days. 

“So?” Draco asked. The steam above his cauldron changed from pale pink to silvery, and he stirred the mixture three and a half times counterclockwise with his wand. 

“So you always call me Potter, out loud,” Harry continued. 

The potion was supposed to be ready to bottle forty seconds after the silvery steam started. Draco counted silently, not taking his eyes off the cauldron. 

“I want to hear you say it.” Harry’s voice was quieter, this time. “I think--” 

“Accio flask,” Draco muttered. He looked up to catch the flask as it flew towards him, and froze when he met Harry’s eyes. 

“See,” Harry murmured. “You’re doing it again. I want to hear what it sounds like.” 

“I have to bottle this right now,” Draco said. His mouth was dry. 

Harry wasn’t looking away. Ridiculously overpowered Gryffindor that he was, he must have done some kind of wandless magic, because the cauldron levitated a little, then tipped itself forwards. The potion flowed smoothly into the flask, and Draco slapped a cork onto it the instant it was all inside.

The cauldron clattered to the ground. 

“I want to hear it,” Harry insisted. “I don’t...I can’t trust what I saw. Legilimancy can be wrong. I can’t risk it. I won’t.” 

“I told you, I’m a shit occlumens,” Draco breathed. “You saw right.” 

“Please.” Harry said quietly. “Please, Draco.” 

“Not here. I’m not doing this in the fucking dungeon,” Draco said, and disapparated. 

He didn’t know if Harry would follow; didn’t know if Harry would guess where he had gone. He glanced around; everything in his bedroom was precisely in order. Draco had never been in Harry’s room, but assumed it was a total mess, if the state of Harry’s robes was any indication. 

“I’m not impatient enough to try to apparate into a room I’ve never been in.” Harry’s voice floated through the door, and Draco jerked it open. 

He stared at Harry as if he’d forgotten why they’d come up here. “I don’t remember where I left that potion I just made.” 

“It’s on the work bench,” Harry said. “Why are we still talking about the damn potion? You said not there. We’re not there now.” 

Draco looked down, and realized he was pretty much blocking the doorway. Wordlessly, he stepped aside to let Harry past, and the door swung shut behind him, and then Harry was staring at him expectantly again. 

“Can’t you just trust what you saw?” Draco asked reluctantly. 

“I’ve lied to legilimens before,” Potter said. 

“I can’t.” Draco shook his head. “Everyone knows it. Dumbledore, Snape, the dark lord...even my parents, it’s probably why they never told me anything during the war.” 

It had been the wrong thing to say, Draco realized. Something sick and heavy was in the air now, and he didn’t know how to get rid of it. 

“All right.” Harry sounded resigned, as though he’d given up on something, and as he turned to walk back towards the door Draco knew that this fragile thing was about to disappear forever.

“Harry, wait,” he called.

Later Draco wouldn’t be able to remember seeing Harry move. He might have apparated. There was only the sudden feeling of Harry’s hands on his. He was too warm, Harry’s hands were too warm, Harry was too warm, and then Harry was kissing him and Draco had no idea whether he wanted it to slow down so he could savor it forever or for their clothes to be gone  _ now. _

“I don’t want to wait,” Harry breathed. His hands were on Draco’s shoulders now and he was walking backwards. Draco stumbled a little, trying to keep up. 

“No, me neither,” Draco said. “I want everything, right now.” It felt ridiculous to say. Harry was moving too slowly, and Draco grabbed his hand and climbed onto the bed, pulling Harry up after him. 

Harry lost his balance, or maybe he did it on purpose, and he was so much heavier than Draco had thought he would be. His skin was on fire. His robes were bunched awkwardly between them, and he pulled at the edge of a sleeve, trying to wiggle an arm free. 

Harry sat up, his knees on either side of Draco’s hips, and pushed his robes open. Harry’s own robes had disappeared, somehow, and Draco grabbed at the hem of Harry’s shirt, pulling it over his head as Harry bent down to kiss him again. 

For a moment Draco was sure he didn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe. “I need--” he gasped when he could breathe again, but the end of it disappeared into another kiss. Harry was heavy and warm and his hands were somehow under him, working his trousers open, and Draco kicked them off without thinking. 

Harry’s were off too and Draco was too distracted by the thing that was suddenly happening with Harry’s tongue and the hollow of his throat to wonder when that had happened. 

Harry’s fingers were warm, too warm, and they were-- Draco slapped his hand away. “I want everything, now,” he repeated. 

“You’re not--” 

“Now,” Draco demanded. 

He grabbed Harry’s hand again, pulling him down to kiss him. He could feel Harry leaning forward, and —

“Not a chance,” Harry said, kissing him. “You absolute nightmare. Admit it, you have no idea what you’re doing.” 

Draco flushed, and apparently Harry took that as confirmation. 

“Let me make this perfect for you,” Harry said. “Please.” 

“Yes,” Draco said, and it came out as more of a gasp. 

Harry muttered something, casting a wandless charm Draco didn’t recognize, but felt inside. He leaned over Draco and pressed a line of kisses down his chest. 

Draco squirmed. “I can’t feel anything there anymore, get on with it.” 

It was the wrong thing to say again, because Harry froze and looked up at him, too quick for Draco to look away, to quick to escape his legilimancy.

He knew what Harry would be seeing: the  _ sectumsempra  _ incident as Draco remembered it, as Draco had experienced it. He’d deserved it at the time, he wouldn’t argue with that. It was a long time ago and it was over, and he still had the scars but it wasn’t something he thought about every day and if Harry was going to pity him over it then Draco was going to just get up and fucking leave, no matter how long he had been waiting to finally do this, and--

“I’m not,” Harry said, and Draco realized he must have been saying this all out loud, or maybe Harry had caught it all through legilimancy, and he sounded almost embarrassed. “I get what it’s like to have people expect you to still be hurting over something old. I’m not-- it’s ok.” 

  
  


“Yes,” Draco said again, and Harry had moved somehow when he wasn’t paying attention and was kissing the inside of his thigh, and pushing his leg up so that he could reach— and he meant to say something like  _ what are you doing  _ or  _ why  _ or  _ are you sure _ but all that came out was a surprised, soft gasp. 

“Like that, do you?” Harry murmured, and then his mouth was back on Draco, and he had to close his eyes because everything was too bright, too sharp, and he could feel the soft press of Harry’s tongue. 

And the words Draco was looking for weren’t there, but the gasp that escaped him instead must have told Harry what he wanted to know, because he pressed deeper, and a warm finger circled his rim, as if toying with the idea of pushing inside. 

“I want to know you,” Harry said, when he finally replaced his tongue with the fingertip, “I want to know every part of you, the scars and all, and not just the ones I put there. I wish I’d known you then, really known you. I wish--I want to think I wouldn’t have done it to you then if I’d known, but I--I want to know the sweet parts of you and don’t lie—” he sounded almost stern, and Draco’s protest died on his lips — “I know you’re sweet. You hide it but you are. You’re weird and cold and warm and sweet and an absolute nightmare, and I want to know every part of you.” 

Draco lost the thread of Harry’s words, then they were kissing again and Harry was murmuring something against his lips as he pressed inside, with his cock this time, and Draco opened his eyes finally, tangling his fingers in Harry’s hair so that he could catch Harry’s gaze, and hoped that he could see the blinding, clear  _ Yes _ as he came apart. 

  
  


He found Harry watching him when he woke up.    
  


“Was I—?” Draco flushed, unsure. Was it bad that he’d apparently fallen asleep immediately after coming, and had no idea if Harry had even—   
  


“You were perfect,” Harry said, snuggling closer against Draco under the blankets that he didn’t remember getting under. “Was it--what you hoped?” 

“Better,” Draco breathed. “I don’t--I’m glad you didn’t let me just—” he waved a hand in the vague direction of Harry’s cock and Harry laughed, as Draco had hoped he would. 

“For the longest time I thought you must have fucked your way through half of Slytherin. When we were at school. But I didn’t know you then, not really. And the past year has been...I started to suspect pretty much right away that I’d been completely wrong about you. In more ways than one,” Harry finished. 

“I didn’t want you to know,” Draco grumbled. “It wrecks my carefully cultivated image of aloof indifference.” 

Harry snorted. “Aloof indifference. As if that has ever been you. But don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone. I want you all for myself.” 

“Good.” They were silent for a long time, when finally, just as Drao was wondering if Harry was asleep, he heard a soft snore. 

He pulled the blankets up to his eyes, letting out a slow breath.  _ Lèse-majesté.  _ Harry would never have thought of it like that, wouldn’t have seen himself like that. He didn’t look at the world the way a dark wizard did. 

“You’d probably hate it if you knew I figured out what you didn’t want to tell me,” Draco whispered, watching his sleeping lover. “You were really obvious about it, even if I’m not a legilimens. You probably hate me feeling protective over you. Ridiculous Gryffindor sentiment. I don’t care, I’ll kill anyone who touches you.  _ Onginnan. _ ”

Until he said it Draco didn’t realize what he was doing, didn’t realize this kind of dark magic was always wandless magic, more about intent and depth of meaning than precise language or even conscious thought. Dark magic could be protective, and a spell like this, fueled by this night...Draco would have to warn Harry later, make sure that he knew what would happen to anyone who attempted to hurt him, even in jest. 

But that could wait.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading <3


End file.
